Silke's fingers curled against Seram's back, clutching the fabric of his shirt. Something shivered loose in his chest.
"I didn't think telling you would feel like this.." Silke whispered.
"Like what?"
"…Like I could breathe again."
They stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other.
The silence wasn't empty. It was healing.
And in it, Seram swore again, this time only to himself:
They would never hurt Silke again.
Not while he was alive.
Not even over his dead body.
Silke shifted first, just enough to lean his forehead against Seram's shoulder. His grip stayed firm though, like if he let go now, something might come undone.
"I know you still have a lot on your plate," he murmured, voice quieter now. "Your squad. Training. That mission's going to come as soon as a rift opens. You need to stay sharp."
Seram nodded slowly. "Yeah."
Then, after a beat: "You sure you're okay? It's kinda chilly this morning. Did you even wear socks?"
